Jennie Smash

OK, considering that my last two posts were about my eyebrows and my pants, it’s kind of silly that I’m about to pick on people for vanity. However, I don’t intend to let that stop me.

In the course of my Internet stalking — you know the drill: you start with Google, go to Friendster, then to MySpace, and so on — I recently discovered two friends of mine from college who are currently claiming to be 26 years old. One neglected to change her high school information, which made it appear as though she had graduated from high school when she was 16.

I can understand getting nervous around your birthday, or worrying about clocks both biological and career, but c’mon. Lying about your age? What are we, celebrities now? What’s next? Botox? I swear to you that if I find out that anyone I went to school with has already had cosmetic surgery to stave off the ravages of time, that I will out them in this space. Especially if it’s me. I’ll tell you all about it, then.

(Brief aside: A short time ago, my friend Brian asked me if I’d had breast reduction surgery. I used to be about 30 pounds heavier, and therefore, was larger in the chestral region. I assured him that I had not had any surgery, that I had, in fact, gotten smaller everywhere. When he looked unconvinced, I said, “Brian, how long have you known me? If I’d had breast reduction surgery, don’t you think I would have told you all about it, in nauseating detail?” That convinced him.)

Anyway, I vote for honesty on the age issue. I’m proud of the fact that I’ve managed to make it this far without being murdered by a customer service representative. Let’s celebrate our years! Who’s with me?

OK, just me then. No big.